


Fright Night

by theswearingkind



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So this is fucking creepy,” Adam said, because it was, and also because it bore repeating, since the place was <i>creepy as fuck</i>, Jesus, it was like something out of the original <i>Texas Chainsaw Massacre</i>, all loud clanking noises and the sound of metal scraping metal and the wind howling around them like dying animals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fright Night

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for teamcockbert's 101 Places to Fornicate meme back in August 2010, for i_amthecosmos's prompt of [Sloss Furnaces](http://slossfurnaces.com/).

“So this is fucking creepy,” Adam said, because it was, and also because it bore repeating, since the place was _creepy as fuck_ , Jesus, it was like something out of the original _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ , all loud clanking noises and the sound of metal scraping metal and the wind howling around them like dying animals.

It hadn’t seemed so bad during the daytime, when Kris had dragged him on the tour and he’d spent an hour and a half listening to the guide try to get the bored seventh-graders on their school trip interested by telling them in kind of a hopefully frightened voice all about all the men who’d died there and all the ghosts that haunted the place – _ghosts, kids! come on!_ – and Adam would have felt bad for the guy, really he would have, only he was too busy sympathizing with the kids, because _hello_ , he was in fucking Birmingham, Alabama, and the show wasn’t until that night, so he was bored, too, okay? And they _could_ have spent the whole day lounging in bed at the Doubletree, but no, no, Kris didn’t want to lay around all day, Kris wanted to _do something_ , and apparently Adam wasn’t the thing Kris wanted to do. And so they’d driven around the honestly horrifically confusing downtown area and gotten lost approximately eight times before Kris had spotted an exit sign that said Sloss Furnaces on it, and his face had lit up and he’d started babbling about _World’s Scariest Places_ and _Paranormal Investigators_ and frankly, Adam had a hard time saying no to Kris when his geek was showing like that, so he’d ended up trailing Kris around the grounds for a couple of hours, sweating out at least five pounds of water weight and trying not to die of heat stroke.

Anyway, it hadn’t seemed all that scary that afternoon, but at night, with all the crowds gone and almost no light but the moon to see by, Adam could admit it: he was fucking scared.

“Yeah, man,” Kris said nervously. “Are – are you sure you didn’t just leave your sunglasses at the hotel?”

And fuck yes, Adam was sure, because he’d been wearing them during the tour and they’d gone from the tour to dinner and from dinner to the venue, and he and half the BJCC staff had spent an hour after the show searching and he’d already called the restaurant, and so the only other place they could be was here.

“Couldn’t we just come back tomorrow?” Kris tried. But no, they couldn’t, the buses were rolling at six a.m., and Adam was not – was _not_ – leaving his specially designed, platinum-rimmed Fendi sunglasses behind in _Alabama_ , ghosts be damned.

“Come on, Kristopher,” he said determinedly, walking in the direction he thought he remembered last having them. “It – won’t be that bad?” which wouldn’t have been a question, only a sudden gust of wind made the casings of the building they were in start creaking like a massive unoiled hinge, and then his voice kind of went up a couple of octaves of its own accord, so.

“Adam!” Kris urged from behind him, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “They’re just sunglasses, I’ll buy you a new pair, _let’s get out of here_.”

“They are _custom-made_ ,” Adam said, scandalized, “there is no _getting a new pair_ ,” and fuck Kris, seriously, this was all his fault anyway, because if he hadn’t made Adam spend his day outside when it was hot as balls at a fucking – a fucking _ironworks_ then this would never have happened, and Adam could be passed out _right now_ on his beautiful four-hundred-thread-count sheets and not wandering around in the semi-dark in this fucking disgustingly hot concrete-and-metal jungle trying to find a pair of sunglasses he’d only had for a week anyway, and Jesus, as hot as it was they’d probably already melted down or something and –

And it was after midnight and the sun had been down for hours and actually, now that Adam thought about it, it had rained during his show, so it really shouldn’t have still been that hot and they were inside now, which meant no moon, so he really shouldn’t have been able to see at all –

“Uh, _Adam_ ,” Kris said, but he didn’t have to, because Adam was seeing it, too.

In front of them, the forge-wheel was starting to spin, slowly, torturously, and the grooved track along the floor was lit white-hot with the molten iron that was pouring out of the furnace, flowing towards them, and huge showers of sparks were raining down, and the wheel was going faster and faster and faster, until it was so fast that Adam couldn’t track it, couldn’t see its spokes anymore, just a blur of motion, and Adam couldn’t move, couldn’t _breathe_ , and then against the blinding light of the furnace he saw – he thought he saw – it looked like a man that had been melted down and then molded back into shape but _wrong_ , and it was _moving_ , it was _coming towards them_ –

“Adam, _Adam_ ,” Kris was saying, hysterical, and he heard himself shriek, “You know what, I can totally buy new sunglasses!” half a second before his muscles unlocked and they were tearing back the way they’d come, stumbling through the blackness and clinging to each other, not looking back, so incredibly fucking not looking back.

They made it as far as the main pavilion – the gorgeous, amazing, blessedly _well-lit_ pavilion – before Adam’s muscles seized, from adrenaline or sheer fucking terror, one or the other, and his legs stopped supporting him and he went down like a fucking ton of bricks, which would have been embarrassing except that Kris immediately dropped beside him, panting and wheezing and eyes so big they took up his whole face. And Kris – Kris was _shaking_ , shaking all over like he’d seen a – and holy shit, _holy shit_ , and without thinking Adam reached over and hauled him close, and it was the adrenaline, it must have been, because even though Adam had never felt less sexy is his entire life, _including_ all of high school, they were both hard in their jeans, and Kris was pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses to his neck and clutching at him wildly, hands scrabbling over Adam’s back. Adam barely managed to fumble both of their flies open and get their cocks out, taking them both in one of his hands and working them in short, fast jerks.

“Adam, Adam, it was – that was – ” Kris choked out. “Adam, I saw it, we _both_ did, I know we did – ”

“Don’t – don’t talk about it,” Adam ordered. “Don’t, Kris, I – ”

“It was – Adam, this place is – ” Kris bucked in his fist. “Oh, God, Adam, we just saw – ”

“Don’t say it!”

“ – a _ghost_ ,” Kris moaned, and came all over his fist – and ghost or no ghost, that was still pretty hot, so all Adam had to do was thumb over the head a few times before he was coming, too.

It was maybe the shortest afterglow of all time, because they were both still fucking terrified, and Adam had only just managed to get himself tucked back in when he looked up and saw that Kris’s face had gone deathly white.

“Kris? What’s the matter?” Adam asked, frantic, whipping around because oh my God, what if it had _followed them out_ –

“I, uh,” Kris said faintly. “I think I dropped the keys.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here is where I make a joke about them saying to hell with it and getting a cab, but as anyone who has ever spent time in Birmingham, Alabama, knows, the chances of that happening are much smaller than the chances of seeing a ghost.


End file.
